For another evening the kobels feasted.
They occupied the village, their captives tied, forced to serve them as they danced, ate and drank in a craze. Even though the battle had long ended they could still feel the rush shaking them.
The plan had been to take what they wanted and leave. Instead, they had sent their weakest back to pick up their camp back at the stream and bring it all here. It was all too good to abandon so soon and so, all evening, kobels went back and forth with baggages.
While the rest enjoyed the time of their life.
They were plundering houses, picking beds to sleep on, ripping clothes for themselves, snatching jewelry to wear.
They were throwing the best of it at Tunu's feet.
Clothes. Real clothes. To them who had known only leather and pelts it was as rich as silk. They had him wear the drapes, try the larger tunics, complain that it hid his body.
Him, a wooden goblet in hand, kept looking at all of this warily. The wine he drank, that wine the fawns had kept years in their basements, was doing little to assuage his mood.
For the fourth time he asked: "Where is Elua?"
He had been told that she had gone back to the camp, or would arrive soon, but this time there was an honest answer. She was with the warriors, helping the wounded. He rushed there, in what had been a barn.
There, at candlelight, the kobels lay on beds of straw. Captive fawns tended to them, scared each time they groaned. They stank more than the wounds.
And here she was, the paltry female kobel at Tuorka's side, replacing his balms. She saw him enter and, with a sudden fear, got up and away from the warrior, only for Tuorka to catch her arm and drag her back.
"You're not done. Do you work, woman."
"Tunu is here."
The warrior realized. He let her go, he tried to stand. Around them the fawns, shivering, tried to ignore that monstrous lizard.
There, in the low light of candles, Tunu truly looked his best. He had gained from the fight, slightly in height, mostly in scales, so much so that few spots were left with fur, but above his eyes, along the back, places as such.
Everywhere else had rougher scales taking over the smooth ones. But his head had received the biggest prize.
He approached her, a bit hesitant.
"Eh. I was... looking for you."
"Sorry. I... didn't want to disturb you."
"You should have! I was waiting to see you all evening! I..."
He lowered his head.
"You don't really want to be with me, do you?"
It was Tuorka who answered.
"Of course she does! You're the only thing she talks about."
The old warrior was dejected. His tone alone told his fall from grace, once the most prized kobel of the tribe, now rejected even by females like her.
But if it could appease the scaled legend he would let the humiliation bare.
"It's true? You... you don't mind being with me?"
"I'm a nobody. Why would you care for..."
"I would care for no one else!"
His voice betrayed the reason. It was shaken. It was fear. Fear of seeing her abandon him, yes, but another fear as well that he was hiding beyond the laughs and wine.
She approached her hand to touch his head.
"You have horns, now."
There was a rumor. A horrible, horrible rumor, about how he had eaten raw meat like an animal. And when he had heard it, and when he had seen how kobels looked at him he himself was horrified at what he had done.
To feed on beasts had indeed given him two horns, short but already sharp, turned to the back like the first arc of a crown.
His heart was beating so hard.
"You care for me? Right? You still like me?"
"Yes." She whispered, mesmerized.
Her hand had moved to his rough cheek. His own hand caressed her face. The candles around them struggled to lit the room but in that low darkness she could see him holding back tears. Him, the most powerful kobel, was still so emotional.
So they went.
Together they went.
They left together and woke up in the morning in the house they had claimed for themselves, where no one dared disturb them but a couple fawns forced to make breakfast.
He hated how those captives looked at him, at his jaws.
But Elua came out from her bath, let the second fawn put clothes on her and showed her new looks at her champion. He praised her, felt her press herself against his arm.
"Liar." She whispered at his ear. "You're just flattering me to be nice."
"But you are beautiful!"
That made her laugh. Had she not held her chest against him she would have burst laughing.
"Let's find you some jewelry!"
He got up, picked her hands and took her to the pile of treasures the others had collected for him.
The fawns were not rich. Most jewels were made of copper, of silver with almost no gemstone. But there was a golden necklace with tiny emeralds along its length that he brought to her neck and helped tie.
One of the captives, seeing this, held back a strangled sob.
Then the door slammed open.
Through that door Lutuk entered. The shaman was frantic. He still wore leather and bones, shook his staff in the room to chase the fawns out.
"Out, out you filth! Get out, faster than that! What are those legs for, vermin?"
Outside, as usual, waited a crowd for the kobel's champion. They chased the fawns through, pushed them away while the chief, in turn, passed through to enter, followed by Tuorka and a couple warriors.
"What's happening?" Tunu asked.
He had instinctively put himself between them and Elua.
"Nothing much."
To the chief's quiet if upset tone the shaman screamed, pointed his staff at their champion.
"Show me your heart, you monster! Lay it bare right now!"
"We are not doing this." The chief was covering his face.
"I tell you! I have convened with the spirits! I have retraced the stars! They all converged, his heart is tainted! It is that of a monster!"
"Yeah, a wyvern!" Tunu defended himself. "Right?"
"Wrong!" The shaman's voice boomed in the room. "You deluded fool! Yours is a rotten heart that will only lead to your doom, as well as ours!"
And the chief: "Would it kill you to make sense?"
"I am making nothing but sense! How dare you! I tell you Kreil, his heart is evil! Now let me see it before it's too late!"
"What, you want to cut his chest open?"
"If need be!"
"Lutuk, I swear, if you keep doing this I will talk to Mala."
"Leave Mala out of this!"
"Then stop suggesting we kill our hero!"
The two of them stared at each other, throwing daggers while the scaled kobel, shaken, remained speechless.
He could feel that heart of his so quiet, so warm in his chest. Rotten? Evil? It felt nothing like that. It felt... amazing. Like the power of a star. So the shaman had to be wrong and the cold and calm thought came to him of killing that liar.
It was only natural for a wyvern to defend itself, if not punish any insolence.
Lutuk, begrudgingly, had relented. He glared at Tunu, then back at Kreil, then grunted and turned away.
"Fine! But heed my words, that heart will kill him and will kill us! We need to take it out before it's too late!"
"See you later, Lutuk."
Once the shaman was gone the chief sighed, clenched his fists for a moment before calming down. He turned to his champion.
"Sorry for that. Lutuk is getting old. I will find him an apprentice."
"Wait!" Tunu panicked. "What about my heart? Am I okay?"
"Yes, don't worry, you are fine."
"But I... I fed on..."
"You are fine, Tunu. Feeding on preys is what wyverns do. Don't be ashamed, be proud of that. We will find more tribes to attack, and you will grow. Next time, who knows? You might get wings."
He excused himself, turned around and when he passed the door, Tuorka tried to stop him.
"Kreil..."
"Not a word." The chief ordered.
He left, the warriors with him, Tuorka the last. That old kobel gave a worried look at the living legend still standing there, shaken.
It was Elua's turn to intervene, to come and hug him.
"Don't listen to an old shaman." She reassured him, but her own voice was hesitant, her embrace not as tight. "He is full of lies. It's all he does, lying."
"Yes... yes, you are right."
The more she pressed, the further away she felt.